


A Tiny Fate

by Chuckabeth



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: A parable?, Butterfly, Gen, I mean it's just one big metaphor?, The moral of the story is angst, Thoughts of Escape, dissociation through polymorph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 00:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuckabeth/pseuds/Chuckabeth
Summary: Caleb goes up...and comes back down.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	A Tiny Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grandfatherclock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/gifts).

> The idea for this drabble is grandfatherclock's! She has wonderful writing. Seriously! Check it out!!!

Caleb had never felt the wind quite like this. The day was a gentle one, he knew, but so was he. Gentle, delicate, floaty. Almost nonexistent. His mind was the calm lull of one vague idea blending into the next. Small ideas. Simple ideas. Like the tender brush of his feathered feet on these flower petals, or the satisfying stretches of his paper wings - in and out. He was almost overwhelmed by the aromas. They were familiar, but in memories they were small, faint, barely noticed. Now they were all-encompassing - bright, sweet delicious! There were sharp, jagged pieces on the edges of his thinking, but for the tiny, fluttering life of him he couldn't imagine how they mattered. One thing he did know was he'd never known a better bliss.

_And he'd never felt the wind quite like this._ It wasn't cold, it wasn't a storm - the sun was brilliant and warm in the sky! The bright blue sky! And that shining orb, it tossed, bounced, fell, spun like the sun wasn't supposed to do. ...Right? It took some moments for Caleb to realize it wasn't the sun moving, but _he_ was, on the center of the flower that his six, delicately feathered feet had tucked into like slippers. The petals tossed, his wings buffeted, and there was no doubt he would be _blown away._ Imagine that - a wind so great he would be tossed up into that bright blue sky, forever drowning in endless azure, in springtime light, in the free and easy currents of whatever tiny fate would come for a tiny butterfly. He felt his grip loosen, felt his wings go full sail -

_"I was so sure, so sure. Until I wasn't."_

Caleb tumbled onto the grass, slamming into his solid, aching brain and body with the shock of landing in ice water. It was a bright spring day, but the colors and smells were dim, empty. The sunlight was blinding. The wind brushed weakly at his hair. He sagged, flat against the ground. He was so tired, so _heavy._ Maybe it would be...a little while before he picked himself up.

A long, measured sigh. He _would_ get up again. Eventually.


End file.
